


Babysitting

by Angelily_Viventis



Series: Alan Rickman x Plus-size reader [39]
Category: Alan Rickman - Fandom
Genre: Age Difference, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Babysitting, Children, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Family Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Married Couple, Married Life, Older Man/Younger Woman, Size Difference, Uncle Alan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:13:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25075912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelily_Viventis/pseuds/Angelily_Viventis
Summary: (Y/N) really wants a baby of their own. She tries to convince Alan while having him babysit their niece.
Relationships: Alan Rickman/Original Female Character(s), Alan Rickman/Reader
Series: Alan Rickman x Plus-size reader [39]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1729954
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Babysitting

**Author's Note:**

> Please note: these are individual one-shots and function as stand-alone chapters. None of the work in these series follow on each other unless indicated as "Parts".

**A/N:** Guys, I'm gonna be honest. I ran out of ideas, so the inspiration for this one came from a Sherlock fanfic I read way back in 2016 where Mycroft and the reader had to babysit. It's called _Babysitting Hamish_ by **freckleslikeconstellations** on Archive of our Own. It's not completely the same as I did change a whole lot and added way more detail.

I hope you like it. 10 200+ words!! 🎉  
______________________________________

The newspaper crinkles between Alan's thick hands as he attempts to read the Sports section of The Sunday Times. He just finished his breakfast consisting of scrambled eggs and toast, before relaxing in the breakfast nook with his newspaper and cup of scalding hot tea.

He's been iffy the whole morning considering what today's activities hold for the couple. Mind you, (Y/N) might not be in a better mood either after last night's harsh exchange of words.

Speaking of, she enters the kitchen, giving a quick glance in Alan's direction, before grabbing a bowl from the cupboard and placing it on the white wooden island.

Sensing her presence, but not wanting to let her know he's watching, he peers over the top of the newspaper to take in the sight of her.

It's still a bit chilly, but not freezing, so she opted for her grey Levi's sweatshirt, a pair of white converse, and a pair of faded ripped jeans - jeans that hug her body and accentuate her curves in all the right places. Not a usual outfit but since it's a casual Sunday, it will suffice.

(Y/N) turns around to grab the Frosted Flakes cereal from the pantry causing Alan to hide behind his newspaper quickly before clearing his throat and murmuring, "I still don't know why you volunteered our services."

"I wouldn't expect you to," she says in a tight voice before grabbing the milk from the fridge and a spoon from the top drawer.

Alan lowers his paper and looks over at her. He immediately notices as she rolls her neck indicating the tightness in her shoulders.

_Probably from all the stress._

He notes the way her eyebrows frown slightly as she absentmindedly opens the box and removes the washing peg from the folded inner sleeve, which usually happens when she's deep in thought.

_Clearly, she's troubled._

After pouring the golden flakes into the bowl, she sets out to pour the milk but pauses in between pouring.

_Clearly, more troubled than I thought._

Just as she was about to tip more milk into the bowl, her hand falters again before she continues to complete the task of preparing her breakfast.

"If you're not feeling well, my love, I can always ring Sheila and tell her to cancel," he offers sincerely.

"The hell you will," she glares slowly up at him.

"All I'm saying is that children can be very demanding and besides, we've never babysat before..."

" _You've_ never babysat before, Alan. _I,_ on the other hand, used to be an au pair abroad for six years. I'm more than capable of being able to look after a five-year-old," her grip tightens around her silver spoon.

She's sure Alan would love nothing more than for her to tell him to call the whole thing off. He's been complaining about the prospects of babysitting his niece all week long, hence why they had the argument last night.

"But if you're not feeling well -" Alan pushes tentatively.

"The only reason I'm not feeling well," she jabs her spoon at him, "is because you've been so resistant to the idea. I know you don't want children, you've made that _quite_ clear," she breathes a frustrated breath and grips the edge of the counter. "But would it kill you to make more of an effort with your niece? Sheila and George haven't had one night out for who knows how long. We're doing this for _them..._ "

Alan opens his mouth, but the doorbell rings just in time. He swallows guiltily.

"That'll be Sheila," she breathes, sending her husband a calculating look.

She's gotten so worked up and she looks at her cereal in disgust before pouring it down the garbage disposal, setting the bowl harshly down in the sink.

"You're not gonna have breakfast?" Alan asks concerned.

He might be slightly annoyed with her, but he still cares.

"I've lost my appetite, s'cuse me," she mutters as she scurries past him out of the room.

He gives a defeated sigh before setting his newspaper down on the table. _It's now or never,_ he thinks to himself and hurries up the back stairs to his office without being noticed.

As he plops down into his plush leather armchair, he hears (Y/N)'s cheerful greeting and recognizes his younger sister's concerned tone checking to see if all the arrangements are still set for the evening. A shrill squeak alarms him to his excited, energetic young niece who no doubt looks the spitting image of Sheila.

He sighs as he pulls his denim jacket's sleeve back, eyeing his wristwatch that's indicating that it's nine-o-clock and his Saturday is about to be ruined. He plops his head back against the armchair and closes his eyes frustratedly.

Why she had to suggest this is beyond his understanding. Probably another foolish attempt at warming him up to the idea of having children.

_Must be._

He frowns as his thoughts drift off into a spiral. They've been married for four years now and they've both agreed to not wanting children.

_What on earth made her change her mind on the topic?_

It's not that he hates children - in fact, he loves other people's children. It's just that Alan Rickman never envisioned himself as a family man, and besides, the best thing about other people's children is that you get to give them back at the end of the day.

Alan is harshly ripped from his thoughts as the door of his office opens, letting in a draught of cold air along with both (Y/N) and Amy. 

"Uncle Alan!!" The young girl shrieks and jumps into Alan's lap excitedly.

"Oof!" He grunts as she wraps her arms around his neck and hugs him tightly, his face sending a disapproving look (Y/N)'s way. He was kind of hoping that she'd let him have a peaceful morning to himself before including him in their babysitting duties. 

She raises her eyebrow knowingly, a smug smirk adorning her face, "See, she likes you," she coos.

"Yes, alright, you can get off now," he pats Amy's back a few times, prying her hands away from the iron grip around his neck.

(Y/N) rolls her eyes, making a disbelieving sound in her throat before Amy lets go of him and hops off, taking a stand next to her aunt. (Y/N) wraps her arm lovingly around her shoulders hoping that she wouldn't pick up on the tension between them.

"Aren't you hot in that, Amy?" Alan asks confused referring to the child's cold weather attire.

She looks comfortably cute in her black pleather trousers, emerald green knitted sweater, and an olive green parka jacket, her dark brown short shoulder-length bob and bangs slightly ruffled.

 _My God, she looks just like..._ He looks over at his own wife with her dark brown shoulder-length bob and bangs, his eyes fluttering a few times in concentration.

He frowns at Amy's attire again.

 _It's chilly, but it sure isn't Eskimo season yet,_ Alan thinks to himself and wonders if George was the one who dressed her this morning; or if Sheila was just overly concerned about whether she'll be cold or not.

 _Ah, they wanted to impress (Y/N) with their fashion sense... The poor child is about to pass out from overheating,_ he notes concerned as light perspiration start to accumulate at her hairline, her red cheeks looking clammy. 

"Here, let me take that, darling. I'll put your coat in the closet downstairs," (Y/N) offers sincerely and gently tugs the parka off Amy's shoulders.

"Uncle Alan, look!" Amy exclaims excitedly before unzipping the Princess Sofia rucksack she brought in with her, tipping it out onto the oval rug in the middle of the room, near Alan's feet.

All the contents of the small bag fall to the floor - pajamas, toothbrush and paste, underwear, a stuffed bear, lip gloss, and lastly, forty-eight coloured pencils.

"Oh, dear..." Alan looks at the mess and grimaces, sending his wife a knowing look.

"What?" She asks accusingly.

"You wanted to babysit, you need to clean her messes," he shrugs, folding his one leg over the other.

"Right," she clenches her jaw, running a hand through her dark brown hair, trying to claw back some control.

She bends down and drags all the contents - except for the pencils - closer to her before stuffing it into the rucksack.

"Mummy says you and (Y/N) are both great artists. Do you want to draw with me? Pleeeease?" Amy pleads, clutching three pencils in her hands.

(Y/N) walks over to Alan's desk and grabs a stack of white paper, walking back to them, "How about you draw with Uncle Alan while I go put your bag away and prepare us some morning snacks, okay?"

Alan looks up at (Y/N) with surprise in his eyes. She eyes him warily. 

The downstairs phone rings, thankfully breaking the searing stare-down that was taking place.

(Y/N) swallows before waving her hand with the stack of papers at Alan, "Can you just-" a jerk of her head indicates to Amy. He nods irritably and reluctantly grabs the papers from her before she scurries out of the room with the rucksack and coat in her hand.

"Right..." he chews the inside of his cheek before giving up and realising that the babysitting is now in full swing whether he likes it or not. "What would you like to draw?"

"Hmmm..." Amy taps her chin in thought. "Can you teach me how to draw a person? I'd like to draw Mummy and Daddy."

"Oh, well, (Y/N) is much better at drawing fashion figures than I am," he clears his throat awkwardly. "My area of expertise is more... landscaping and architecture. Graphics, you know?"

She looks at him confused, her tiny brow furrowing.

"Can we just draw a cat then?"

He chuckles, "Sure," before he slides off the armchair, crossing his legs on the rug, and handing them each a piece of paper.

The two soon settle into a lull of silence as Alan explains to her step-by-step how to draw a cat. As she's busy with the outline, his hand drifts across the paper, shading and adding texture. Soon, it's like his mind is on autopilot as his hand takes control of the drawing in front of him.

He's forgotten how much he enjoys drawing without being pushed for a deadline. He hasn't sketched anything like this since his early days as a graphic designer.

"Aaaaaagh!" Amy squeals frustratedly, a coloured pencil flying across the room, hitting the far wall.

 _WHAT JUST HAPPENED?_ Alan looks frightened over at his niece, not having paid attention to what just happened.

(Y/N) comes running into the room, looking equally frightened and confused.

"What on earth?" She says, taking in the sight of a tearful Amy on the floor with arms crossed, papers scattered all across the rug, the pencil at the other side of the wall, and a shocked Alan.

"Uncle Alan is way better than I am at drawing and he doesn't listen when I ask him to help me!" Amy exclaims in a heartbroken voice, her bottom lip quivering.

She walks over and looks at Alan's intricately detailed drawing of a cat, and over to Amy's attempt at what a person would call a cat.

"You could've just pretended to be bad at drawing, y'know. No need to show off," she hisses through clenched teeth before kneeling down to the floor.

He pulls his shoulders up in defense, "I must have zoned out, I'm sorry. I didn't hear her talk to me..." He looks at (Y/N) innocently as if he doesn't understand what all the fuss is about.

She swallows. Inhale. Exhale. _Breathe._

"Amy, if you can get up then perhaps you'd like to come and help me in the kitchen for a little while? I was thinking that we could make a cake that you can take home to your parents," she offers sweetly while rubbing her back soothingly.

Alan frowns. _She never makes me cake, unless it's a special occasion._

"What sort of cake?" Amy asks petulantly, her breath hitching in her throat as she fights to hold back her tears.

"Hmm," (Y/N) pretends to consider. Her eyes dart to Alan.

"I was thinking a big chocolate one with glazed strawberries?"

Alan's mouth hangs agape. _God damn her._ She knows that's one of his favourites.

 _"_ Okay, _"_ Amy answers slightly more lively as she gets up off the floor with the help of her aunt.

"Why's Uncle Alan such a meanie?" Amy asks with a pout, her arms folded across her chest as she sits on top of the kitchen island, watching as (Y/N) elegantly moves around the kitchen gathering all the ingredients.

She pauses as she carries the heavy cream coloured SMEG mixer over to the island.

"Oh.. Ahem..." she clears her throat awkwardly. She doesn't like people talking bad about her partner, especially behind his back.

"He's just very busy during the week is all, so he likes to use the weekend time doing absolutely nothing."

"He sounds lazy," Amy says matter-of-factly.

(Y/N) covers up a surprised laugh with a cough and looks over her shoulder at the young child.

_Only three types of people ever tell the truth. 1) drunk people 2) angry people and 3) kids!_

"You're very right, Amy. He is very lazy. In fact, _he_ should be helping us with this cake, me thinks."

"Me thinks so too!"

Amy slides off the kitchen island with a grin.

Cooking with Amy turns out to be more of a task than (Y/N) had originally thought.

What should've been a simple measuring of five ingredients, turned in to a back-and-forth of adding grain by grain of flour and sugar since Amy is so precise about the quantities.

"Love, I used to own a bakery - a little extra flour won't hurt anybody," (Y/N) says in a tight voice, her patience running thin.

"That was waaay back, though. Maybe you forgot how to do it. This will be fine," Amy retorts cheekily, adding another grain of sugar into the measuring cup.

"Right-o, let's tip that in and start stirring," (Y/N) tips the child's hand in order to empty the cup into the mixture. "Else this cake will never be finished by the end of this century," she mutters quietly under her breath.

"Let me do this part and you can pour it into the pans," (Y/N) makes to grab the wooden spoon before -

"Let me do it!" Amy yells excitedly, grabbing the spoon from her and starts stirring.

Puffs of flour go up into the air, staining (Y/N)'s face, the cupboards and the surfaces. Then part of an egg slips out of the bowl and onto the floor.

"Oh, dear," she grimaces, thankful that Alan isn't here to witness this mess. He can be so anal about cleanliness sometimes - especially the kitchen.

"Just..." _breathe._ "Try and be more careful, okay?" She tells Amy.

"Okay," the child beams, before she continues to mix the ingredients in the bowl recklessly again.

(Y/N) groans, grabbing a cloth and begins to attend to the egg on the floor.

 _You volunteered to babysit her, you clean up her messes,_ Alan's earlier words ring in her mind.

"Uncle Alan is my uncle isn't he?" Amy asks suddenly, bringing (Y/N) out of her thoughts.

"Mh-hmmm," she mutter as she scrapes at the floor with the cloth and wonders where Amy is going with this.

"But you're not my blood aunt are you?"

_Ah._

"No, love," she replies, still scrubbing at the floor, "I'm not, but I am your blood uncle's wife which makes me your aunt by marriage."

She looks up at Amy to see that she's stopped mixing and is biting at her lower lip uncertainly.

"But you look so young? Aren't you too young to be someone's wife?"

Blood rushes to (Y/N)'s face, staining her cheeks red. "Uhm... I-I know people that have gotten married way younger than I have."

"What am I supposed to call you, then? I can't call you 'Aunt (Y/N),' that seems far too weird for your age."

She looks back at the child. "Well, you can always just call me by my name - (Y/N)."

Amy blushes slightly then nods as if that suits her quite well. She sidles up to (Y/N), mixing the ingredients again.

"Can I ask you something then, (Y/N)?"

She looks at Amy in surprise, her young face looking serious.

"Of course you can," she tell her, barely hesitating and thinking that she's going to ask for her advice.

(Y/N) feels pleased that she already thinks she can go to her for advice.

"Good," she says pleased, sitting back. "Because Daddy said that Uncle Alan and you would definitely know the answer to this one, but since Uncle Al's being all moody today,"

(Y/N) opens her mouth to come to Alan's defense, before-

"I think I'll just ask you instead."

"Okayyyy," you say more uncertainly, eyeing the girl suspiciously.

"Where do babies come from?"

(Y/N)'s head jerks up, her face immediately red without her being able to help it. It feels as if ice are running through her veins.

"Uhmmm..."

"Daddy said that you would definitely know," Amy persists, "Because you go there a lot, but I wasn't sure because Uncle Alan and you don't have any children, do you?"

(Y/N) shakes her head solemnly.

"I asked Mummy about it and she said that I probably shouldn't say that to you. But I thought that I would because Daddy's often more right than Mummy."

"And your Uncle Alan's often more right than either of them," the blundering bass voice belonging to Alan rings throughout the kitchen.

Startled, Amy accidentally drops the bowl. (Y/N) jumps back as the mixture goes everywhere, violently dripping from the countertop on to the hardwood floor.

"Aaaah!" Amy yells melodramatically, before she hops off the island, hurries forward and slides the patio doors open, rushing out into the large, rectangular garden square.

"Amy! Amy! Come back!" (Y/N) whirls around after her, before she turns to the mess on the floor with despair in her eyes.

"Still want to have children?" Alan says from where he's leaning against the door casually with folded arms.

"I was doing perfectly fine until you came in and scared her off," she snaps back angrily.

"If by 'perfectly fine' you mean that you were getting flustered at the most obvious of embarrassing questions then yes, darling, you were doing quite splendidly," Alan replies with a smirk before he turns around.

(Y/N) scowls at his back, and she feels like bending down and lobbing some of the cake mixture at him.

"Careful, (Y/N)," he warns. "You know you have to give her back by tomorrow. That little girl's already got you wrapped around her finger," Alan says.

She scoffs while rolling her eyes, already feeling her blood boil. She whirls around and cries out, "Amy!" before she hurries out after her, ignoring the mess that's on the floor.

Alan takes two more steps towards the doorway before turning back.

"And you've got me wrapped around yours," is what he sighs out, before he turns back and attempts to clean up the mess in the kitchen.

Amy walks around the enclosed garden square, intently looking at the multitude of lavender flowers along the flowerbeds, her sparkling eyes spotting something in the outside windowsill.

"Ooh, d'you have an Alexa?" She runs up to (Y/N) after spotting her step into the enclosure.

(Y/N) chuckles lightly, "Yes we do, in fact."

"Can we have a dance party, please, please, please?" The child begs, her hands pressed into prayer formation.

"Erm," she breathes, her thoughts immediately going to the mess in the kitchen that she should be attending to.

"Please, (Y/N)! Mummy never has time for a dance party with me," Amy's head sulks, her tiny lips in a pout.

 _Being an only child must be extremely lonely,_ (Y/N) thinks to herself.

She bites uncertainly at her bottom lip as she looks back over her shoulder at the glass patio doors. _The mess can wait for now._

"Yes, alright," she breathes causing Amy to cheer out in excitement. 

"Alexa, play _Party in the USA by Miley Cyrus_ ," Amy instructs the electronic speaker.

"Oh, no, no, no, no. If we're having a dance party, we're going to need something with more beat," she says, her eyes filled with mirth. "Alexa, play _Voodoo by Willy William_."

The beat starts and they both waste no time moving their bodies along with the tune. Amy grabs (Y/N)'s hands while they spin in a circle, the chilly sunlight shining down on them.

Alan, crouched down by the kitchen floor, finds that he keeps looking out at them both. His mind becomes distracted from the task he's supposed to be doing every time he hears (Y/N)'s laugh, or hears a squeal coming from Amy.

Once he's finally restored the kitchen back to order, he moves towards the open patio doors, so that he can properly watch them. He folds his arms as Amy's brow furrows in concentration and watches as (Y/N) loops her arms around the small child, showing her a new dance move.

He smiles without being able to help it. Suddenly, just with (Y/N)'s laugh and her pretty flushed face, her dark brown shoulder bob bobbing loosely around her head, she's got him imagining a scene where she's not playing with Amy, but their own son or daughter.

It would be on a Saturday like this, and he would be home, watching as he is now. Perhaps he'd join, pick his wife up and swing her around in his arms. Their child would laugh, and (Y/N)'s eyes would be sparkling as she looks at him.

Alan shakes his head. _God damn her for always somehow getting me to imagine things I'd never thought of, and God damn her for looking so beautiful right now._

(Y/N) dips the small child downward in her arms, causing Amy to giggle slightly. A white butterfly flits past and he watches as his wife's head turns a fraction. He smiles, but a split-second of both time and her concentration is lost as Amy decides to attempt to dip the older woman.

The smile slips off Alan's face as the child's grip falters, causing (Y/N) to land on her back on the grass. Panic fills him and he darts forward in reflex before seeing them both burst out in a fit of laughter.

Seeing (Y/N) happy like that puts the smile back on Alan's face. He lets out a relieved breath and watches as she pushes her head back down against the short, stubby grass. Amy sinks down next to (Y/N) on the grass, gently laying her head on (Y/N)'s chest and giving her a hug. Her eyes slowly become aware of Alan in the patio doorway and he gives (Y/N) a tight-lipped smile. She jerk upwards and hastily gets to her feet, brushing herself and Amy down.

Alan frowns. There's something wrong with her, _between_ the two of them, that the time he's spent away from her in the house hasn't solved. Had he gone too far with her in the kitchen? He feels suddenly worried.

"Can we dance again?" Amy asks, her face still flushed with delight from their earlier dancing.

"Maybe some other time," (Y/N) mutters as she starts acting like the twenty-seven-year-old that she is, rather than the six-year-old she'd felt like. She heads inside, brushing past Alan without a word.

He swallows and swivels to face her.

_She's_ _definitely not happy with me._

"I took the liberty of cleaning the kitchen," he informs her at the same time Amy comes bouncing inside, her hair bouncing atop her head.

"Thank you," she mutters as she makes a start on lunch.

"You don't like each other much do you? For people who live together? Mummy and Daddy kiss all the time. I was rather thinking that you'd be the same, but you haven't done it once," Amy says confused, her eyebrows furrowing in a disappointing manner.

(Y/N) stiffens from where she's hunched over as she picks a saucepan from the bottom cupboard under the gas stovetop.

Alan, noticing such a thing and feeling uncomfortable because of it, says, "Amy, why don't you come with me and we can finish our cat drawings?"

He leads the young child out the door by the shoulder, leaving (Y/N) to prepare lunch.

"She's angry with you," Amy points out as she trails after her uncle.

"I am aware," Alan sighs in a long-suffering tone.

Amy, feeling encouraged, walks even closer behind her uncle and asks, "Is it because you don't have any children?"

"No," Alan swallows, trying not to clench his hands, "I expect it's just"-

"If I knew where they come from then I could help you," she says determinedly.

"I'm not certain that you could," he replies with a bit of a sigh as he leads the little girl back into the study.

He takes a seat on the rug before tapping the space next to him for her to sit down.

"I'm sure I could," she insists, as Alan hands her a clean sheet of paper.

"I'm really good at finding things, so if I knew where they come from then I would go there, get one and bring him or her back to you. (Y/N) would be happy then, wouldn't she?"

Alan, feeling oddly touched, pauses and looks down at the coloured pencils bunched in his large hands.

"Well," he says, looking across at the little girl, "As much as I appreciate the gesture, and as much as I'm sure that it would make (Y/N) happy, that's still something that would be very difficult for you to do. But perhaps we can make (Y/N) happy in another way, hmm?"

Amy's face lights up, looking eager and determined, "Okay!"

"How about we both draw (Y/N) a picture of your favourite time spent with her, hm?"

Amy thinks for a minute and Alan can literally see the light bulb go on inside her mind, "Oh, I got it!" she exclaims before grabbing a handful of coloured pencils.

"Lunch is ready," (Y/N) calls forty-minutes later over the house intercom.

"Are you ready?" Alan asks the child, gently sweeping the back of his hand over his sketch, clearing the pencil debris off of it.

Amy grimaces at her drawing then nods her head before following her uncle diligently to the kitchen.

(Y/N) currently has her back turned as she dishes up the plates by the stove. Alan looks at her with a hopeful sort of tentativeness as he leads Amy to the set table.

"Who did you draw there, Amy?" Alan asks, the little girl now looking at him as if he grew two heads. He was the who gave the instruction of what to draw, after all.

Amy's brow furrows as she looks down at her picture, "I drew (Y/N)."

" _(Y/N)?_ " Alan asks with feign surprise in his voice and he believes that he's quite unmistaken in seeing a brief quirk of (Y/N)'s lips as she fills the last plate with food.

Spurred on, Alan beckons Amy even closer to the table. "And what is it that she's doing in the drawing?" he asks.

As the girl goes on to explain the drawing of her and (Y/N) dancing, Alan moves backward. He catches his wife looking over her shoulder at the scene with curiosity in her eyes and gestures for her to come and watch.

After a moment's uncertainty she places the plate down, wiping her hands on the tea towel and joins him. Alan puts an arm around her waist, then he turns his head and presses a quick kiss to the base of her neck. She looks at him in surprise.

"I do love you, you know that, don't you?" he asks quietly, so that only she can hear him, "No matter what I say"-

"I know," she reassures him breathily, a look of relief filling Alan's eyes.

"Wow," Amy utters as she spots Alan's sketch on the table, pulling it closer to her.

Both of them turn their heads to look at Amy. She looks at them both in astonishment with a wide grin plastered on her face.

Alan's fingers tighten around (Y/N)'s waist as she lets out a breath that she didn't even realize she'd been holding.

"Wow, Uncle Al, this is _amazing_ ," she says, looking around again before she hurriedly turns back so that she can begin to examine the detailed sketch of a sleeping (Y/N)'s face.

"Amazing, as is yours, my dear. Would you like to frame both and hang them in the house somewhere?" Alan asks her with a smile.

 _"Really?"_ Amy asks, her eyes lighting up noticeably as she looks behind her at them.

Alan nods.

"Wow, thanks, Uncle Al," she lets go of the paper and whirls around properly so that she can hug him.

A loving smile immediately fills his face, his hand leaving (Y/N)'s waist to rest on his niece's back.

Feeling suddenly emotional at seeing a child show so much adoration towards Alan, (Y/N) teeters in her position for a moment before she leans across, places a hand on her husband's shoulder, and kisses him on the cheek, her other hand going to Amy's back.

Amy smiles as she pushes her head into Alan's stomach and a faint smile crosses his own face before he and his niece pull away from one another.

"It's a beautiful drawing of (Y/N), Uncle Al," Amy reiterates as she and Alan sit down at the table, (Y/N) now putting the empty dirty saucepans in the sink.

With her back turned to them, she tries very hard not to smile too much but fails gloriously.

"But she's even more beautiful in real life than in the drawing, isn't she, Uncle?" Amy presses while her sparkling eyes exam each and every detail of Alan's drawing.

"Yes, she is," Alan answers without a moment of hesitation. He meets his wife's eyes and her face softens.

"I think she'd like a kiss now, Uncle Al," Amy says cheekily as she swings her legs back and forth underneath the table.

" _Amy!_ " (Y/N) cries before she lets out a splutter of laughter.

"I"- Alan begins. He's never been one for public displays of affection, even in front of family.

"She deserves a kiss, doesn't she?"

Alan nods. Then, despite the fact that this is not the way things are done in this house, he rises from his chair and crosses the room towards his wife.

Her breath catches in her throat at his determined gaze and her body turns towards him instinctively. Her damp hands splay against his chest as he presses the most delicate of chaste kisses against her lips, quickly pulling back.

"That wasn't a proper kiss, Uncle Alan!" Amy laughs.

Alan barely draws back from (Y/N), meeting her eyes and trapping her with his body against the sink. He leaves her in no doubt of what they'd both be doing right now if Amy wasn't here, before he finally pulls away from her.

(Y/N) swallows breathily, "Right, lunch is ready."

After a filling and satisfying lunch, the trio goes into the den to watch one of Amy's favourite Disney movies - _Peter Pan._

(Y/N) deliberately snuggles up in the large tan leather armchair so that Amy and Alan will be forced to sit on the couch together. She stares at them, watching them more than the film.

She analyses how Alan's tall and paternal figure looks next to Amy's smaller delicate one. She watches how they both sit there straight-backed, Amy inching forward in her seat every time a favourite moment comes on.

She watches how Alan's lips purse as he no doubt finds fault with the film but tries to suppress himself for Amy's sake and possibly because he doesn't want to make his wife angry.

She smiles, thinking that she could be watching Alan and their own child one day. In fact, she smiles and smiles at them until finally, she falls asleep, dreaming of the perfect family that she and Alan created.

Amy looks over at (Y/N) halfway through the film and lets out an exasperated breath. Alan's chestnut eyes go across to her too, and as Amy looks up at her uncle she notices how the older man's face seems to soften, how light seems to filter through his eyes and how the most tender of smiles appears on his face just by looking at (Y/N).

"She's happy now, isn't she?" Amy asks in a hushed tone.

Alan puts one of his large hands on her shoulder before answering, "Yes, yes, I think she is," he smiles.

An hour later, (Y/N) finds herself waking up to a quiet townhouse, the television off, the den now empty. She hears faint voices floating from the kitchen and slowly sits up in the chair. She stands up, pulling her sweatshirt down over her exposed stomach, before walking groggily to the kitchen.

"When you said that we could make (Y/N) happy with the drawings, what did you mean?" she hears Amy ask.

She freezes out of sight, awaiting Alan's answer.

 _"Ah,"_ her husband answers and there comes a clink of cutlery tapping against each other, "I suppose I meant that I felt that she might be happy if she were to see us doing something special for her."

She swallows. She can picture Amy's brow furrowing.

"Is that why she looked happier when the film was on?" She asks.

(Y/N) can hear Alan softly humming in response.

"Still," Amy adds, "I wish that she hadn't fallen asleep right during the best bit."

There's a bit of a pause before she wonders if she should go in, but-

"Well, sometimes... sometimes, if we've been worrying, or thinking about something particularly hard then it can take a lot out of us, I expect that's why..." Alan trails off, and she can picture his eyes chinking with sadness and his mind filling up with overwhelming thought.

"Is she worried because she doesn't know where children are from and she's trying to figure it out?" Aly asks, and (Y/N) has to raise her fingers to her lips in order to stop a gurgle of watery laughter leaving them.

She pictures Alan swallowing before he says, "No, no it's not that"-

"I've been good today haven't I, Uncle Al? So, she can't be worried about that," Amy comments suddenly.

Alan thinks about the drawing incident, the mess in the kitchen, the running about like a wild thing in the garden, and finds that all he can say is, "Yes, yes you have."

"So, what's she worried about then? I'm sure if (Y/N) and you had a child they'd be good for you too. If _only_ you could find one..." Amy muses matter-of-factly.

Another gurgle nearly escapes (Y/N) and tears threaten to leak out of her chocolate brown eyes. She lets out a shuddery breath at the exact same moment she hears Alan letting out a frustrated one in the kitchen.

"I'm afraid you don't understand, Amy dear...this matter, it's-it's more complicated than any of that"-

_"Why?"_

(Y/N) steps closer to the kitchen, holding her breath.

"Because even if-even if (Y/N) and I knew where the children were, then I couldn't... I couldn't allow her to bring one back..."

Amy gasps, whilst (Y/N)'s body nearly trembles, a pang running through her chest.

"Some people," Alan goes on with trepidation in his voice, "Some people like me, just aren't the right sort of people to have children-"

"I heard Daddy say to Mummy that you'd make great parents, but that you'll never have enough time to love them," Amy says solemnly.

(Y/N) swallows the large lump in her throat, squeezing her nostrils together to keep the snot from leaking out of her nose as she swipes at her wet eyes.

"But Mummy said that sometimes we get what we truly need rather than what we think we want. I don't know what that means, but perhaps _you_ do."

Alan thinks of his wife and of how he'd never wanted anyone in that way, before her. He thinks of the way she's affected him.

"Your Mum is very wise, Amy," he murmurs, looking down thoughtfully.

Silence settles over the kitchen and after making herself presentable again, (Y/N) steps into the kitchen, deciding to announce her presence.

"Ah," Alan coos, his face lighting up a little as soon as he sees her.

"Sorry about falling asleep," she says, joining them where they're eating fish fingers and chips by the table and instinctively sitting on Alan's lap when she sees that he looks sad.

She wraps an arm around his neck and he blinks up at her in surprise, steadying her by applying one hand to her waist.

"Did you find everything all right?" she asks her husband, nodding to his dinner.

"Oh yes," Alan says, but-

"Uncle Alan was going to cook all these horrible vegetables with potatoes," Amy begins.

"Yes, well, I'm sure (Y/N) doesn't need to hear about all that," Alan says with an embarrassed smile, shifting his position underneath her.

"But then I made him look in the freezer and he found those," Amy continues, happily nodding to the fish fingers and chips. "He was going to add peas," the little girl adds with a grimace.

"Oh, Al, you _weren't,"_ she says, pretending to be appalled, which makes Amy laugh. She playfully brushes a hand through Alan's silver hair.

"Five a day, my dear," Alan splutters, looking anxious as if he genuinely thinks that he might have done something wrong.

"I'm only teasing," she reassures. "Though I did tell you that I'd bought the fish fingers and chips and put them in the freezer for today, didn't I?"

Alan looks suddenly embarrassed as he answers, "It must have slipped my mind," he mumbles.

She hums knowingly before she wraps her arms around him and pecks him quickly on his roman nose, causing Amy's face to wrinkle, and Alan to smile up at his wife.

Suddenly, feeling rather sad as she looks into those chestnut eyes she finds that she can't smile back. She gingerly moves off his lap and onto a chair.

Alan looks at her. He knows that she's unhappy again, but he doesn't know what to do.

Amy must sense (Y/N)'s declining mood too, for she says, "Peter Pan was really good. We could always go back and show you the bits you missed.

A brief smile graces (Y/N)'s face, "Oh no, love, that's all right."

Amy frowns at her plate and for a moment (Y/N) wonders if Alan managed to slip in some peas there after all.

In the next moment she looks back up at the young woman and says, "You're sad about the-"

Alan hurriedly clears his throat, "Amy and I were just discussing the morality behind Peter Pan over our dinner, weren't we Amy?"

Amy and (Y/N) both shoot Alan a puzzled look. She frowns, wishing that Alan wouldn't lie to try and avoid the issue, even with Amy present. Alan gives a delicate tap to his niece's foot with his shoe.

"Y-Yes," the girl replies apprehensively.

(Y/N), of course noticing this, feels rather disappointed.

"And what was the conclusion?" She asks as she steals one of Alan's chips off his plate.

"You can get your own," Alan frowns at her, "I left enough in the-"

"I'd rather just steal yours," she interrupts, taking another.

Alan scoffs before rolling his eyes and pushing his plate closer to her so that they can share properly. If he can't do anything else then he can at least make her happy with food.

"We learned that it's important to let our minds be wide open and not to be so stuck in our ways, didn't we, Uncle Al?" Amy announces.

Alan lets out an embarrassed cough and jerks his head forwards embarrassedly.

(Y/N) can't help but smile again, feeling grateful that Amy hasn't let the real issue go as easily as Alan has.

"That sounds like a lesson we can all get behind," (Y/N) says, causing Alan to frown down at his plate.

After dinner, Alan sticks to the leather armchair this time, watching SNL on the telly as (Y/N) tasks herself with giving Amy a bath. His head involuntarily moves in the direction of movement when his eye catches her and Amy entering the den. The small girl now dressed in her pink pussy cat footie pajamas, her hair still slightly wet and surely smelling of (Y/N)'s rose shampoo.

Alan looks on as Amy sits between (Y/N)'s legs as she delicately drags a brush through her dark brown locks. Her fingers intertwine as she deftly pulls the girl's shoulder-length hair into a thick French braid and somehow Alan is astound at how nurturing (Y/N) can be.

He's always known her to be a kind and caring soul, and kids tend to take to her very quickly. But now he knows why - she has a certain motherly-ness about her, but also a kind of childlike understanding, making her very favorable among children.

Once Alan changes the channel to a more kid-friendly show, (Y/N) leans back against the couch, her feet tucked under her buttocks and Amy nestled against her, resting her head against (Y/N)'s arm. She feels pleased, but a little tense too, and she deliberately avoids Alan's eyes.

Alan watches both Amy and his wife consideringly, paying more attention to the pair of them than the Saturday night movie that's on screen. He knows that deep down she's always wanted children - it's caused multiple heartbreaking conversations at home.

But even today, even after little Amy, he feels most ill-equipped and incapable of giving them to her. It would be true to say that he's closer to the edge of doing so, but he can't just seem to make the leap.

The movie continues playing and slowly both Amy and (Y/N) lie back together until the girl's asleep in her arms. Alan sighs and stands up, going to fetch a blanket from the downstairs linen closet. He drapes it over them both and he just stands there as if he's guarding the pair of them.

At the beginning of the day, Alan had expected himself to feel relieved and happy about getting to this point where he can call it a day, but now he just wishes that the girl could stay longer so that he could avoid having the inevitable conversation with (Y/N).

He sighs, causing (Y/N)'s eyes to flutter open. Confused, she looks at the clock which indicates eight-thirty, then over to Alan as he stands like a deer caught in headlights.

"We should probably get her to bed," she mutters groggy, carefully unwrapping them both from the blanket.

"Here, let me," he picks the small sleeping child up and carries her upstairs to the guest bedroom, (Y/N) trailing behind as soon as she filled a sippy-cup with water.

Alan lays her gently on the bed, tucking her in, as (Y/N) stands in the doorway watching them with arms crossed.

 _Can he not see what a great father he would make???_ Is what she wanted to scream at him at seeing how adorably gentle he is with his niece.

He turns around and she walks forward awkwardly, placing the sippy-cup on the nightstand closest to Amy. She bends down and places a soft kiss on the child's forehead before whispering, "I love you," quietly.

Once downstairs again, (Y/N) stretches and yawns as she slowly sits down on the sofa, Alan on the armchair once more.

"Go to bed, darling," Alan instructs sweetly after noting your tired eyes.

"Come with me?" She pleads softly, looking over at him expectantly.

He presses _menu_ on the Apple remote to see that the time is only nine-o-clock. Usually, he would stay up until past midnight, but he decides to join her instead, seeing as she's in a more comfortable mood.

Soon they find themselves both in their pajamas, completing their nighttime routine of washing faces and brushing teeth, before climbing in bed and snuggling up to each other.

"Can we have a baby?" She looks sheepishly up into his chestnut eyes, although the room is now dark with only the moonlight shining a beam of low light, a dreamy smile splays on her face.

He stiffens slightly, letting go of her waist before clearing his throat. 

"No," he says looking up at the ceiling after turning on to his back.

"Please, Al? Didn't you enjoy looking after Amy today? She loves you, don't you want one of your own?"

She props herself on her elbow, drawing invisible patterns on his exposed forearm.

Curiously, he turns his head towards her while furrowing his brow.

"(Y/N)," he breathes exasperated. "No. Did you only say we would babysit because you thought it would change my mind about having children?"

"Of course not," she scoffs in an innocent chuckle.

"We went over this before, my love. I told you I don't want children..."

"Please, Al. I just want to-"

"(Y/N)," his tone now harsh, "I said no."

Crestfallen, she turns away from him on her side, giving him the cold shoulder.

Alan attempts to put his arm around her thick waist, but she slaps it away.

"Keep your hands to yourself, Rickman," she mutters bitterly.

Determined, he wraps his arm around her again, turning her to face him, noticing that she's crying.

Heartbroken at her sadness, he wipes the wet tears away with his fingers.

 _"Why?"_ She pleads, softly demanding an answer.

"Because... Because I'm a busy man, dear..."

She scoffs while rolling her eyes before turning away from him again.

 _Try again,_ she thinks to herself.

He sighs and now props himself on his elbow, facing her back.

"Think about it, (Y/N). Truly, honestly think about it with more than just your heart. Would a child have a good life with us? Would it be happy having me barely around? Would it be fair of me to put all that responsibility onto you? To put you through all the difficult times? To know that it could quite frankly drive us apart?"

She turns facing him, looking solemnly into his eyes. "Is that what's bothering you?"

He moves closer to her, cupping her face with his large hands. He bows his head and breathes her in for a moment.

"A lot of things bother me," he says, and the calm, matter-of-fact way that he does so makes a shiver run through her.

"But all I know is that I don't want anything to come between us, to affect the way we are now."

She shuffles closer and massages his silver hair with her delicate hands.

"What sort of father would I make, (Y/N)? You know I'm barely home as it is-"

"Shh," she mutters, pecking at his lips, "Shh."

He kisses her sloppily before burying his head in her shoulder, breathing hard. She reaches up and works her fingers through his hair as he nestles his face into her collarbone.

"I wish you'd just told me this," she breathes, "instead of just telling me that you don't want them, I wish you'd just _explained."_

Alan pulls back from her.

"I'm sorry," he breathes, "I know you liked having Amy around today, and I know that you were happy, but I just don't think I can give something like that to you long term."

She swallows the lump in her throat, still toying with his hair.

He looks over at her, trying to see what's going through her mind.

"I want to, you understand, it's just me... I'm not right," he says.

"Not right?" she murmurs. "Al, you did really well today. Okay at first you were," she pulls a face. "But then, giving her the opportunity to draw with you and hang it in the house, _our house_ , that was..."

She takes a breath, "That was really sweet of you. In fact, I know it wasn't perfect, but I think we _both_ did really well today."

"Even so-" he looks at her again.

She pushes her head down by his shoulder - she can tell that she's not going to get anywhere with him tonight, so, in an attempt to bring the conversation to an end, at least for now, she murmurs, "But maybe you're right. Maybe we're okay as we are, maybe we should just wait a while."

"So, we're going to wait?" Alan checks.

"Mmmhmm," she says, feeling miserable even as she says it.

She presses her head more insistently against Alan's shoulder, feeling glad that he can't see her face even though he can probably sense the sadness that's radiating from her. She feels him kiss the top of her head and finds that she can't bear it anymore.

She clears her throat and rolls away from him, onto her other side, "I-I think I'll go to bed now, get an early night."

"Okay," he says uncertainly.

She can tell from that one word and the seriousness that shined in his eyes earlier that he knows she's only pretending to be content with things.

He knows she's still sad, but decides to let her rest for the evening as he knows her mind must be working overtime right now.

"Uncle Alan," Amy whispers urgently the next morning.

Alan groans sleepily as the bright morning sun seeps through the thick-lined black-out curtains.

"I'm hungry," she attempts again, bending closer to him, her morning breath now noticeably stronger in his nostrils.

"There are _Bourbon_ and _Gingernuts_ downstairs," his muffled words drone against his pillow.

"She doesn't want tea biscuits, Al - she's not us," his wife replies equally sleepy, but at least makes an attempt to get up out of the bed.

Still in her nightwear, she leads Amy downstairs and starts preparing waffles for breakfast. She lets the child eat and as soon as a well-dressed Alan makes his presence in the kitchen, she bolts upstairs to get herself dressed for this cheery Sunday.

Not too cheery, though, as she looks over at their shared bed and remembers their conversation from last night.

"Can I play some music, please, (Y/N)?" Amy asks determined as she enters the main en suite bathroom as (Y/N)'s busy getting ready.

"Of course, sweetheart," she answers as she leans closer to the mirror, gliding the hot straightener through her shoulder-length bob.

"Alexa, play _random playlist_ ," Amy instructs the home pod and hops onto the counter.

She watches intently as (Y/N) applies her makeup, already dressed in black jeans and a floral top. They spend a good hour together talking and giggling as (Y/N) finishes getting ready.

_You can start a family_  
_Or you can start a war_  
_Began with good intentions_  
_Now you don't know what you're fighting for_

_There's no way of knowing_  
_The way you are today_  
_When I look up to the sky_  
_There's only one thing that I wanna say_

_Lay down, try and talk about it_  
_Lay down, don't scream or cry or shout it_  
_Stay down, don't deny or doubt it_  
_No one knows you better than me_

The words from Texas frontwoman rings throughout the bathroom and (Y/N) has to swallow the thick lump in her throat as she listens intently to the words for the first time. She's heard this song a thousand times, especially just when it released with Alan having a feature part in it, but she never bothered to pay attention to the words.

 _How fitting,_ she thinks to herself.

Before the first tears could spill as she attempts to put on her mascara, the doorbell rings and Amy's face lights up in glee as she slides down the counter.

"Oh, that's Mummy! Okay, (Y/N), I've got to go now," she says urgently. "Thank you so, so much for playing with me this weekend."

"You're very welcome, love," she smiles softly, sad to see the small child go.

Amy teeters for a bit before rushing forward, crashing against her aunt and squeezing her tightly.

"I love you, (Y/N)," Amy declared seriously, her face open and honest.

"I- I love you too, Amy. More than you will ever know," tears escape her eyes.

Amy squeezes her one last time before bolting excitedly out of the room.

"Hey, Al!" Sheila exclaims, and almost towers over Alan as she leans in and pecks him on the cheek.

He squeezes her arm before inviting her into the townhouse.

"Mummy!" Amy squeals as soon as she sees Sheila. She jumps up and down, nearly trips over her Princess Sofia rucksack by the door, and hurls herself into Sheila's arms.

"Hey sweetheart, did you have a good sleepover?" She asks.

Amy nods enthusiastically before answering, "Uncle Alan was a bit moody at first-"

Alan clears his throat and fidgets awkwardly as Sheila smiles embarrassedly.

"But then he turned out nice after all and guess what he taught me?"

Sheila shakes her head. Amy glides out of her mother's arms and leads her down the hall to the two drawings.

"Is that-"

"Your daughter is quite the artist," Alan says dismissively as if it's no big deal.

He remembers her green parka from the coat closet and removes it before gently helping Amy put it on.

( _How cute does Alan look being all dad-like??)_

Sheila straightens up, "That's-that's very kind of you, thank you," she says happily, beginning to lead the way out.

Amy slips on her rucksack and follows after her.

"Oh, it's no bother," Alan replies, walking behind them both.

"Uncle Alan and I drew the entire afternoon because he said that will make (Y/N) happy," Amy says.

Sheila turns around by the door and looks at Alan questioningly. Amy turns around too with a smile.

"Well, erm, thanks for that, a-and for today," Sheila says, clearly wanting to know more about why her brother needed to make her sister-in-law happy. "Tell (Y/N) when she comes down that I'm sorry I missed her, won't you?" she adds.

Alan nods before bending down and patting Amy's tummy lovingly, "Take care won't you, Amy? And be good for your parents." He winks at her before straightening back up.

"Why is (Y/N) crying, Uncle Al?" Amy whispers seriously as she looks up at him.

"Wh-what do you mean?" He stills, slowly looking down at her in surprise.

"When I went into your room to say goodbye, she was wiping her wet eyes."

A pang fills his chest.

"She's just sad to see you go, is all," Alan gives a tight-lipped smile before coming up with an excuse.

"Are you sure that everything's all right?" Sheila asks.

"Oh yes, quite fine," Alan hums.

Amy pulls on her mother's coat, "It's because of the baby thing, Mummy," she says, causing Sheila to look down at her.

 _"Huh?"_ She looks puzzled.

"It's nothing," Alan attempts to explain, "She's just got this very curious"-

"Daddy and you were wrong, Mummy," Amy says as if it should be obvious, "You thought that Uncle Al and (Y/N) know where babies come from but they don't. That's why (Y/N)'s really sad. Uncle Alan's trying not to be sad but he is too because he can't make it better."

Sheila clears her throat awkwardly as Alan now knows what they are clearly topics of discussion at their house, and both Alan and his sister avoid each other's eyes. "I'm sure they know sweetheart"-

"But they don't," Amy cries, tugging on Sheila's arm insistently, "They don't!"

"Perhaps we should go," Sheila mutters.

Alan nods, thinking that's a very good idea. 

"Say goodbye to your uncle, Amy."

"But Mummy-"

"We'll talk about this later sweetheart, but we need to go. _Look_ your Uncle Alan's tired from all you've put him through-"

"He's only tired because he's sad-" Amy pleads.

" _Later_ _,_ Amy," Sheila insists quietly through gritted teeth.

Amy lets out a sigh that's reminiscent of all the ones her uncle had been releasing the day earlier. Then, with her shoulders hunched and resentful eyes he gives Alan a quick hug and says sullenly, "Goodbye, Uncle Alan."

"Goodbye, Amy dear," Alan says, feeling oddly cold and miserable when the girl turns away from him.

He watches as Amy and Sheila depart before he turns back and heads into the living room and up to the main bedroom.

He stills and listens at the bathroom door for his wife's soft sniffles. He slowly creaks the door open before stepping in.

"She's gone," Alan swallows, wincing a little when his voice comes out harsher than he'd intended.

 _"Oh,"_ she says disappointedly, and Alan's heart clenches painfully in his chest when she shuffles further away from him.

"I don't think all this today was a good idea," he begins, but before he can go on any further she frowns, pushing past him and into the bedroom.

"It makes you sad," he says, standing by the entranceway and watching as she sits down on the edge of the bed, pulling on a pair of black socks.

"Yes," she says, sounding angry as she stills her actions midway. "It does make me sad when the man w-who I love most in the world won't commit to me."

Alan feels puzzled, "Darling, I'm already committed to you by marriage, I thought this was about children"-

"It's about children, of course, it is, but..." She runs her black manicured nails through her hair. "But," she goes on, turning more towards Alan with a bit of a desperate look on her face.

"Everyone around us seems to be moving forward in some direction, have you noticed? Sheila and George are expecting another baby, my sister is announcing her engagement any day now and..."

"We've got each other, isn't that enough?" Alan asks, "Why do we have to put a label on it? What is it about children that are so appealing to you?" He huffs out a breath and looks away from her.

"It's not that I don't love you Al, or that I believe that you don't love me-"

"Then...?"

"I heard you talking to Amy at dinner," she reveals, letting go of the socks.

 _"Ah,"_ Alan shifts his position against the doorway.

She sends him a calculating look.

"What did you mean when you said that you don't think you're the right sort of person to have children?"

A beat passes between them.

"Darling, why is this so important to you?"

"Do you not want someone to say 'I love you' and accept you unconditionally, Alan?" She presses desperately.

"Again, that's why we have each other."

"Okay, yes, but someone to live out your legacy, to carry your name, your genes?"

He looks away at the window blinds. He'd rather be anywhere else but here right now. He's never thought of it that way.

"What will I have of you the day you pass, Alan?"

Alan looks shocked over at her, his mind whizzing to find a light-hearted comeback. He knows what she means.

"All of this," he indicates to the room in general. "Everything I own goes to you."

"I'm not talking about the money, Al," she says quietly. "And you know that... I want something of yours to hold on to... I-I want to have _your_ baby."

He silently walks over to her, sitting next to her on the bed before taking both of her hands in his.

He has to admit, although reluctantly, he's thought this through a million times. He has no idea why he's been fighting against it because he knows he wants nothing more than to see his wife glowing with pregnancy, knowing that it's his child that she's carrying. He _want_ s to come home after work and be greeted by two or three of his own brood, spending every single second of his usually quiet weekend with a house full of rowdy kids.

He rests his forehead against hers and quietly utters, "Let's have a baby."

Her eyes flutter open as she watches him intently, not pulling back from their position. A small excited smile tugs at the corners of her lips.

"Okay?" She asks slightly apprehensive.

"Okay," he opens his eyes and it tells her everything she needs to know about his determination to be the best husband to her and the best father to their potential children.


End file.
